


Membership Has its Perks

by flammablehat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Desperation, Facials, M/M, Mild D/s Play, Mile High Club, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, not the spa kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: On a red-eye to St. Petersburg, Viktor inducts Yuuri into the mile high club.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at the Yuri On Ice kinkmeme:
> 
> anon has a simple need: Yuuri riding Viktor's fingers.
> 
> How/when/where don't matter. Just want to see some good old-fashioned finger action and some power-bottom, desperate to get-off Yuuri writhing on Viktor's hand.
> 
> Bonus: praise kink  
> Bonus+++: praise kink on both sides :3c  
> Squicks: non-con/dub-con

It's about two hours into Viktor teasing him under the insubstantial cover of their complimentary blanket before Yuuri breaks. He grabs Viktor's wrist and turns his head, their eyes meeting when Viktor casually lifts his gaze from the book in his lap. 

Under the cheap fleece, his fingers are curled loosely around the throbbing heat of Yuuri’s cock, which is trapped between Yuuri’s thigh and the seam of his pants. 

“You okay?” Viktor asks, head tilting, all innocence. His hand tightens. It might as well be around Yuuri’s throat for the way his breath thins and the edges of his vision blur. 

The visibility in the cabin is dim, a couple reading lights adding to the soft yellow illumination of track lighting along the aisles. Outside the windows it’s even darker, just past midnight — the glow of the wings is far enough behind them as to not be visible at all. Yakov is snoring in the seat across from them, Yuri engrossed in his phone by his side. It’s quiet, with only two other occupants in first class, businessmen who appear to also be sleeping. 

Yuuri stands up and heads for the lavatory. There’s a brief, quiet exchange between Yuri and Viktor before he’s followed. 

It’s first class but the bathrooms are meant for temporary use and they don’t have much to recommend them aside from a little more privacy than the main cabin. That’s all Yuuri really needs as Viktor fits himself into the cramped space behind him, closing and locking the door with a plastic rattle. 

“I told him you weren’t feeling well and I was going to check on you,” Viktor says, low. Yuuri turns around. 

Their hands collide on his zipper, Viktor’s mouth hot and sudden on Yuuri’s neck as Yuuri pants with the relief of his jeans loosening and being shoved down his thighs. 

“Please, please,” Yuuri gasps, pushing his boxers down after his jeans while Viktor slips a travel size packet of lube out of his back pocket and rips it open with his teeth. Eyeballing the roughly three feet of space they have to work with, Viktor squeezes the gel into his palm and swirls a fingertip in it before reaching around Yuuri to circle his hole. 

The plane dips, leaving them weightless for a second, Viktor’s finger skidding away as he steadies himself with a hand on Yuuri’s lower back. When they settle Yuuri feels lightheaded, and he’s not sure if it’s from the temporary air time or the way Viktor homes in on him again, purposeful and focused. 

It’s one finger first, which isn’t enough. Yuuri bites his lip and squirms, arms around Viktor’s shoulders for balance through the familiar sting and stretch. More lube and then it’s two fingers, Viktor’s arm slung around his back with his thumb and pinky spread wide across Yuuri’s cheeks; his hand pumps with an infuriating hooking motion that gives Yuuri nothing to bear down on and no way to ease the liquid fire spreading slowly through his groin. 

He whimpers when Viktor takes his hand back again, smearing the last of the lube off his palm with three fingers. This time, instead of reaching around, he drags the heel of his hand under Yuuri’s balls and comes up from below, steadying the angle of his wrist against his own thigh. 

“You want it?” he asks, flicking a hot look up at Yuuri through his pale lashes. Yuuri nods, catching his glasses before they fall off his face. Viktor kisses Yuuri’s chin, the line of his jaw, then nods down at his hand. “Take it, then.” 

A flush prickles Yuuri from his forehead to his chest, suddenly both warm and sensitive under his shirt. He sinks against Viktor’s leg, onto the easy, slick penetration of his bunched fingers, mouth falling open at how dirty and fucking good it feels to finally have some leverage. He shifts forward, grinding his cock into the firm muscle of Viktor’s thigh for only a second before he’s pinned against the far wall, back awkwardly bowed over the toilet. 

Viktor eyes him, one hand planted in the center of his chest and the other buried to the last knuckle in Yuuri’s ass. 

“Do you want it?” he says again, significantly, and Yuuri understands. He chokes a little, biting off a desperate noise that’s too loud for a sleeping plane behind the limited protection of a door that’s more of a screen than a sound barrier. 

Viktor hushes him, easing off his chest to brush the hair out of his eyes. “I’ll help you,” he whispers, bracing a foot against the bowl of the toilet and resting his forearm on his bent knee. With Yuuri’s feet flat on the floor, Viktor’s fingers are stuffed inside him and held firmly in place by his own leg. It takes Yuuri going up on his tiptoes to get any slide, any semblance of thrust, but Viktor’s eyes flash hot and dark when he tries. 

“Ride me,” Viktor orders, and Yuuri’s spine goes liquid. 

He digs for it, jerky and urgent. It sounds exactly like sex, the rhythmic slapping and heavy breathing that fogs the tiny mirror and makes Yuuri dizzy, desperate, shameless. 

“God, yes,” he whimpers, high and tight. He needs to come, but it isn’t quite enough — his body craves the force and weight of Viktor’s body as a focal point, something for the pleasure to condense around. Like this it’s scattered, bright flickers that won’t coalesce; it just adds to the hunger sparking dangerously in his belly. 

“So beautiful,” Viktor murmurs, over and over, palm curled around Yuuri’s hip and adding a little extra push to Yuuri’s rocking. “Are you close? Tell me.” 

“Yes, yes, you feel so good, please touch me, please,” Yuuri begs, quietly as he can but harsh with need. 

“No touching,” Viktor says, and Yuuri is bereft and confused until Viktor crouches, taking away the support of his leg to settle back on his heels. The leverage disappears but Viktor fucks him in earnest now, screwing his fingers inside Yuuri with rapid little twists of his forearm that feel like they’re stealing the breath from Yuuri’s lungs. 

Viktor shakes the hair away from his face and looks up at Yuuri expectantly. 

“Oh god,” Yuuri breathes, pressing the back of his wrist to his mouth. 

“Come for me, Yuuri,” Viktor says, the sliver of iris around his pupils cool and sharp like he’s holding Yuuri at knifepoint with a blade of ice. Yuuri’s knees shake, his hips trying and failing to match the rhythm of Viktor’s hand. 

“I _can’t_ ,” Yuuri says, tearful, overwhelmed, so close it hurts it hurts it _hurts_. Viktor’s voice is sweet, calming, and cuts through the frantic static of his need. 

“You can,” he says, fond. “You’re doing so well. Come for me.” He nips at Yuuri’s thigh, trembling so close to his face, then soothes the pinch with his tongue. Yuuri muffles a sob. “Come for me, Yuuri,” Viktor says again, patient. Certain. 

Yuuri fists a hand in Viktor’s hair, a thin, anguished noise slipping past the seal of his palm over his mouth. Viktor lets his eyes fall closed and smiles, lips just parting on a sigh. 

The first spurt catches him on the cheek, and it’s all over from there. The relief of it is like fire: hot and cleansing and utterly devastating. Viktor lets Yuuri grind against his face, keeping his mouth soft as come streaks his hair, the bridge of his nose, dripping onto his delicately extended tongue. 

Yuuri tastes blood and realizes he’s bitten the thin skin between his thumb and first finger hard enough to tear, just at the edge. He can hardly catch his breath, and doesn’t care enough to hold back a low moan when Viktor sucks a lingering kiss over the wet head of his cock. 

“Oh my god,” Yuuri says, hazy and loose as Viktor straightens, wincing slightly from the strain in his knees. 

Up close the damage is a little shocking. Viktor’s flushed, come clumping the silver gossamer of his hair and glazing his forehead, nose and cheeks. There’s even a small bead of damp spiking his eyelashes, and he looks unbelievably pleased with himself. 

“Gorgeous,” he says, warm in a way that tickles up Yuuri’s spine and makes him shiver. 

“Here, let me—” Yuuri starts to reach for his placket but Viktor catches his hand, drawing it up to kiss his knuckles. 

“Save it,” he says. “Your choice when we get to the hotel.” 

Yuuri thinks about it, blushing again as he wets a paper towel and helps to clean off Viktor’s face as they make themselves presentable.

Viktor must see something in Yuuri’s expression because he lifts a brow, damp and a little smug. “I can’t wait.” He grins, backing out of the bathroom door and leaving Yuuri to hurriedly finish zipping up his pants. 

Yuri glares with no more or less disdain than usual at their return, so Yuuri allows himself a subtle twist in his seat to feel the pulse of emptiness inside him as he threads his fingers with Viktor’s and settles down to sleep until they land.


End file.
